


Evil Author Day 2020

by optimouse



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, The Borgias (Showtime TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Evil Author Day 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:17:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/optimouse/pseuds/optimouse
Kudos: 2





	1. the Unburnt 1

The Stormlands had not had the habit of crowning their rulers in a Sept even after the invasion of the Andals. Instead, to honor Durran Godsgrief and Elenei they crowned their kings and queens in the godswood or in the open air under a storm.  
Perhaps, Mors thought, looking at the book in his hands, borrowed from the Maester, this could be something easily fixed. Moat Cailin did have a godswood. It also had a large courtyard. If nothing else, a blizzard would count as a storm.  
As it was, there were things to do to prepare for the Storm Lords and the impending coronation. The Princess was insisting that the coronation be as traditional as possible, keeping in mind high financial restraints. She’d given her Council a very strict budget and told the lot that if they wished to make it any more involved, the money would come out of their own pockets. Given that the Royal Household was essentially running on financial fumes, it did make sense even if it would infuriate parts of their liege lords.  
Traditionally there would be a grand feast to be paired with a coronation. As it was, they had managed a feast- bread, beast, beer.  
It also begged the question of who would crown her. The Seven Kingdoms had been crowned by the Faith. His Princess—she thought to swear to her people, but worried of the ramifications if the Faith were not the least invited. Instead—she sent out invitations. To every representative of a faith in the North. She also sent out invitations to the Starry Sept and Baelor’s Sept. The Orphans of the Greenblood, the Isle of Faces, the Priesthood of the Drowned God, and the brotherhood that supported the Faith of the Seven as based out of White Harbor.  
They were all invited to anoint the Crown and attend the celebrations; she would take prayer with each Faith as well as counsel. To appease his Princess’ preferences, the actual oath taking would be done by those of her people who had made the choice to take her and leave—they would ask the questions she would swear by. Her grandmother would, if she arrived, crown her. If not, Lord Seaworth.  
Afterwards, separately in the godswood, attended by the representatives of each family, his Princess would marry in proxy, taking both Oberyn Martell and Jon Snow of House Stark as her husbands. It would stand. Snow was on his way, as was Martell. If they made it in time, the wedding would not be done by proxy, and then would come the consummation.  
Back to the words of the oath—he should have paid closer attention to the Maester. He had had the opportunity to learn more, why had he not used it?  
Ah yes, when would I need to learn the more involved oaths of fealty. I’m a third son of a second son, I will not need to know any of this. Weapons will get me a job. Weapons had caught him a job, being able to read, write, and reason had pushed him further.

“You’re him.” Jon looked the other man up and down, noting the trimmed beard, layered robes—they had a Dornish flavor, but enough layers of the right fabrics to keep the man warm. “I’m Jon Snow,” he offered a hand, which was clasped in a warrior’s grip. “of House Stark. You made good time.”  
“So did you.” The man smiled, nodded. “Oberyn Martell, of House Nymeros-Martell.” He gestured towards a group of women sitting down. “The Princess Rhaelle Baratheon of House Targaryen, my paramour Ellaria Sand of House Uller, our daughters.” The other man, Prince Oberyn, pointed each out and gave their names. “Your companion is?”  
“Ah, with me is Sam Tarly, he is one of the stewards of the Night’s Watch. We haveone more with us, but the Maester is sleeping.”  
“The Maester?” The Princess Rhaelle sat up. “Aemon is here?”  
“He is, Princess.” Jon knew there must be a relation there. “He is accompanying me to Moat Cailin and will be staying through the wedding.”  
“Then tomorrow we will join you on the road, and tonight, child, you will speak to your soon brother-husband. Best to know the man before you wed with him.” She smiled. “Then you can bother pester me with questions about little Shireen.”

“She is something.” Jon thought about it. “Reminds me somewhat of Old Nan, or perhaps—Grandmother Flint.” Grandmother Flint had still been alive when he was a youth.  
“Grandmother Flint?”  
“Ah, my father’s grandmother, Arya of House Flint who married Rodrik the Wandering Wolf. She ruled the household—Lady Catelyn hated her.” He had loved her, as had Arya. Sansa had never quite known what to make of the woman. “She was of the old ways and once told my Lord Father to sit down, and be quiet or she would take him over her knee.”  
“Your father obeyed.”  
“Oh, aye. And listened to her lecture, fixed the problem, never made that mistake again. She died just before Rickon was born, fell down steps and broke her neck.” He had been somewhat suspicious of the death, given the Septa’s rise in prominence later, but it was something that he was willing to let rest. “Fair, just, stern.”


	2. Borgias

It starts the night that they arrive in Pesaro from Rome- that night where he takes his husband’s rights, leaving bruises, bloodied sheets, and a few crusting wounds. It’s the wounds- she feels overwhelmed inside her head, bruising as if it had been battered many times on all sides, such possessiveness, anger, disdain-and none of it her own.  
It continued- headaches nightly, if not longer, emotions that were not hers constantly bashing and bruising against her own. Her maid’s kindness, the light shades of infatuation from the stable boy, Giovanni’s lasciviousness tinged with his disgust- Catalans- he hated Catalans. She was not even Catalan- they were Borgia, of Valencia.  
Then, an overnight hunting trip. Lucrezia took the quiet, pulled herself back to her rooms, and let herself breathe in the silence. Dismissed the maid. Laid on the bed, breathed in the air of Pesaro, blew it out. Let herself think about what the possibilities were.  
In Valencia, the Borgias had been Sentinels. Watchers. The Guardians at the wall. It had skipped Papa entirely, she would be very surprised if it had touched Juan- but Cesare, perhaps. Joffre, perhaps. She- these events were not correct for an Awakening. She did not see things as if they were closer, smell things- what she did was hear things that she shouldn’t hear, things that were felt, not said aloud.  
Perhaps she was going mad. Either way- she used the basin on the table, feeling her dinner pass back up. Either way, her body was in rebellion, and had been for weeks.  
The night her Lord Husband comes back, she takes care with special preparations for the dinner table.  
He noticed. He inquired. She informed.  
“I am with child.” His eyes change- that dangerous look, and she can feel the momentary loathing. He hides it from his face but not from her, and she feels herself pale.  
“So I am to have a half-Catalan heir, then?” He sneers then. “A Marrano for a child?” Giovanni spits more insults, which she lets slide. That low roiling hatred pushing against her mind makes her stomach roil and her body shake at insults that she has heard since she was a child.  
“Well then.” Giovanni’s smile unnerved her.

Juan first hears rumors in an alehouse in Rome, and he discounts them. 

“Cesare!” (add more here)

“Michelotto, I want you to join my sister’s retinue.”  
“My lord?” The sharp words are careful, eyes on the cardinal.  
“My sister was too evasive every time she spoke of her marriage. Her retinue, including her maid, are very solicitous.”  
“She’s with child.” Michelotto thought on it. “Could it be that? That her husband does not want the pregnancy announced until she must go into confinement?”  
“She’s pregnant.” Cesare paused- his baby, with a baby? “How did I not see that?”  
“You saw everything else. She is also wearing far more clothing than she prefers to wear in Rome’s heat, she has rearranged her household here so that her handmaid is the only one with access at all times to her—that woman also being the one who person in her household that no one has been able to suborn.”  
“Someone has tried to buy her handmaid?”  
“Four cardinals, one of your father’s people, and at least two other branches of the Sforza.” Michelotto paused. “The woman, Francesca, she reported the agents of the last two to one of the men-at-arms. They were dealt with; floating in the Tiber, I suspect. That man-at-arms does not have immediate access to your Lady sister, but is allowed in her presence with the handmaid’s company only.” He paused, thought. “I think that the only males that she has allowed in her presence without her handmaid’s company are yourself and your brother the Duke.”  
“Yes, yes.” Cesare made a choice. “I’ll talk to Lucrecia about adding you to her retinue- if it’s the man at arms that I am thinking of, the man is not particularly skilled with weaponry.”  
“I also noticed that. The agents were not particularly well dealt with. Accidents were well planned and executed. No knives in the dark, save for tampered with steps, saddles, etc.”  
“Does my sister seem to know of it?”  
“I’d have to watch her to find out.”

“Lucrecia, I would have my man accompany your retinue to Pesaro.” Cesare started the conversation with a kiss to his sister’s hand.  
“Why?” She thought on the matter, his worry cresting over her in waves. “You worry.”  
“Yes.” Cesare thinks on the matter. “I am worried about bandits on the way to Pesaro. After, Micheletto will have business nearby.”  
“My lord husband will not be pleased to have him among the men at arms.” Lucrecia, and she allows herself to soften. “ He does not like me to be alone with men.” She admitted it easily. “If your Micheletto can find his way to me, alone, without being noticed or apprehended by the guards tonight, I would have words with him before I depart.”  
“Sis?”  
“I will take him with me- but I need to speak with him first. Then he can speak to you. Also, should I expect several of Juan’s men?” Cesare thought on it a moment, considering. On one hand, his brother’s men were usually louts the way that Juan could be. On the other it might seem less like a power move- however, best…  
“How about this- I will put the question to Juan to decide?”

“Juan.” His brother is not drunk, not yet. Cesare moved to secure the wine. “I am sending one of my men with Lucrezia to Pesaro.”  
“To Pesaro?” Juan sat, poured water instead. “Why?” He stopped, thought on the rumors he had heard and discarded.  
“I would have a set of eyes near her that can be trusted absolutely.”  
“You don’t trust her husband?” Juan smirked. “You either?” Juan and Cesare exchanged glances. “I have heard that he has many of his family over to Pesaro, that many messages fly between he and his cousins.”  
“That would be one of the reasons that I am sending Micheletto with her to Pesaro.” Juan nodded.  
“I’ll arrange a small retinue of my men.” Juan paused. “The ones who are far more pious than I.”  
“Good. I would not have our sister in even more danger.”

“You have returned with a retinue.” Giovanni had been to meet her when his wife arrived home. He’d seen the liveried servants- the bull. One had helped her down, a man with short red hair and a face like a knife.  
“I have.” She was smiling at him, and he felt a wave- so innocent of her family’s sins, but still- what her family wanted of them. “My brother Juan insisted. He wanted to make sure that the honor of the family accompanied me here.”  
“How many?” She could feel his rage, almost overpowering her.  
“Twelve.”  
“I see.”

Micheletto doesn’t have the position of captain in the guard- that went to an Alessandro Llancol- one of the minor, minor members of the extended Borja family- but he had enough clout within their group that he knew he could rally them in an emergency. At least 3 of them had recognized that he was not one of the Duke of Gandia’s men. They did not seem to mind after Alessandro had a quiet word-  
“His Eminence wished for me to join the guard.”  
“He doesn’t trust the Duke?” Alessandro had asked. “He does not trust you?”  
“It’s harder to send a whole troop of an honor guard home than it is an individual man.” Micheletto did not need to explain. “Have the men heard anything?”  
“Lord Sforza is almost universally hated- his huntsmen are the few who don’t have hatred, but they do have caution. A lot of it.” Alessandro paused. “He does not feed his dogs well- he wants to keep them hungry for the hunt, and then has been known to kill those hounds who try to eat during the hunt.”  
Not an entirely smart man. “How about his household; how do they feed?”  
“The soldiers are well fed, have a separate kitchen and funds for feeding for most days. The Lady of Forli appointed a castellan for their barracks- the Sforza arms. The men that are sworn to Lord Sforza have no such support.” Micheletto had noted parts of this.  
“It’s the lady- correct?”  
“Lady Lucrecia re-arranged their housing and food arrangements, like she arranged ours. Made a budget for their upkeep, a schedule for there to be a mess hall- it is shared with the household servants.” Alessandro snorted. “She took lessons from Tia Juana on that one, on how to run a loyal household.” Micheletto blinked.  
“That’s the first that I’ve heard you, any of you, use Valencian.” He knew that they spoke it near him, as he was Italian, as were half of the Duke of Gandia’s men.  
“We use Valencian when we are trying to be- discrete.” Alessandro explained. “It does not suit us to be too foreign, to be too noticeable in Rome, in Italy. I, most of the lesser cousins, we receive the ridicule less than the greater cousins. At home, we also use Valencian- Lady Lucrecia and Cousin Cesar especially.”  
“I feel as if I am missing something in our conversation, Alessandro.”  
“I have not heard a single word from Lady Lucrecia that had a tone of Valencian.” Alessandro tried to explain. “Both she and Cousin Cesar used to have issues with not having the correct word in Italian- Cesar’s education at University and the insults of Italians cured him of that. Lady Lucrecia had not lost that when I had last saw her- and my sister told me that the Lady Lucrecia did it on purpose.”  
“On purpose?”  
“Lady Lucrecia had to have appropriate playmates for a Cardinal’s daughter.” Alessandro paused. “The younger ones preferred the rest of the cousins, but Lady Lucrecia had to entertain appropriate age mates.” He paused. “They were not kind. Lord Juan, he avoids appearing too Valencian, tries to blend in. Lady Lucrecia, according to my sister, made a point of being Valencian, after she tried being as Roman as she could. It did not stop the insults.”


	3. original work

She held the sword high, centering her balance as much as she could. Up- up, for ten, twenty, thirty seconds-  
Next to her ankles, Rosie whimpered up at her mother, watching Sarah put down the sword, tip into the packed dirt and lean into it, breathing hard.  
“Well, Rosie-girl, that was a good attempt.”  
“One would think that you’d never wielded a sword.” Feet away, a man leaned on a bench, silver-streaked hair gleaming in the morning sun. “And I know that’s wrong.”  
“You’ve read my file.”  
“Not hard to, Sarah. Being the Alpha and the Sheriff at the same time gives me a lot of privileges. When I got word that the locals were looking at you for a wolf-like murder, I pulled it. Thought you might be a rogue until I read it. Instead I read a file of a freelance researcher and mage-scientist.”  
“Good for you.”  
“Really? That’s all you have to say?” Rosie barked, and butted into Sarah’s knee. “What’s with her?” The wolf pointed towards the corgi. “And why won’t she obey?”  
“First, she’s a working dog-“ Sarah moved towards the chair kitty-corner to the bench, slumping into the seat. “- she’s been trained to take care of me, keep me safe. She’s actually a fae-dog. One of my cousin’s breeds fae-dogs, mostly wolfhounds and a few corgis for the smaller fae. When I started looking for a service dog, he picked her out from his puppies and put her into a training program. She has just enough magic around her to be able to do her job- I lucked out with my first.”  
“How the fuck does a Fae end up with late-onset epilepsy, anyway?” She felt the moss on her rock chair soft against her back, and Rosie leapt up to curl into her lap.   
His question was borderline-rude.  
“Well, a Fae wouldn’t.” Sarah pointed out. “My blood’s not pure. In theory, if it was, the magic would clean out the issue. Or I’d be dead. Possibly both, at the same time, implosively.”  
“You’re worse than my 15 year old about skirting the question.” Regan shifted towards her. Sheriff at 38, Alpha, he sat in his power well. Sarah wasn’t sure if she liked or hated him yet.   
“I stood as Sword in ritual.” Sarah stated. “To defend against trouble. I managed to hold the Sword and Shield against what we really had not expected- this was Gorka, David, I, a few others- a tornado. Apparently, according to some research a friend did afterwards, it wasn’t originally aimed towards us. Sometimes weather is attracted to mage-work. To ritual.”  
“I held the Shield, used the Sword to channel the storm around us. I grounded electricity from the storm through a ritual Sword and Shield. I probably saved our lives, but I took damage.”  
“In the form of epilepsy.”  
“In the form of remaining slightly over-charged with magic. Weather breeds electricity, which has an interesting relationship with magic. A friend’s healer says that the reason it presents like epilepsy is because the magic storms across my brain, triggering seizures. Similar to an epileptic’s neurons misfiring. There are ways, of course, for me to avoid them.”  
“Rosie. Who has just enough magic to smell the magic. And warn you?”  
“Exactly.” Sarah grasped at the sword. “I wouldn’t change it though. Someone asked me that- would I have let the Shield lower, not used the Sword to ground the storm and send it away if I had known what it would do to me. And the answer is no. I stood as Sword and Shield- to defend and protect. I may have days that I can barely lift my sword, but I did my duty.”


End file.
